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• Breath catching, you go still at the sink and the wet plate in your hands slips from your fingers to shatter on the floor. Staring as the thing dragging itself across your yard goes out of sight. What the heck did you just see? And it didn’t just crawl in your open garage, did it? Not really sure, you pick up the half finished glass of wine on the counter and tip it into the sink with the soapy water. You know better. That this is exactly how those idiots in the horror movies die as you grab a broom and head toward the door that leads down into the garage. Turning the knob and cracking the door, you can hear something moving around down there. Common sense screaming at you to run instead of leaning in to look.

• Dragging himself further into the shelter he found, he finally touches his side and feels the wet, warm energon he’s bleeding. He’s had close calls before, though. Always comes through. Knows the other Vehicons have a running joke about how many times he should have offlined by now. Like when Megatron had chucked him off the Nemesis. He’d survived that, he can survive anything. Sure. Head lifting as something breaks, he growls a low warning when he spots the little organic standing at the top of the stairs with its pitiful weapon.

• It’s a robot. A big, weird looking alien robot bleeding glowing stuff on the concrete. And a childish part of yourself is absolutely delighted, remembering The Iron Giant and Short Circuit, while the rest of you is trying to remember what the Terminator theme sounds like. Because this giant is as likely to crush you as be friendly. And its flickering visor stares at you before its head swings toward the road. Starts trying to drag itself deeper into your garage and you tear your eyes from it to the road, seeing a big semi truck idling slowly along. Is it in trouble? Hiding?

• “Don’t,” he snarls when you start down the stairs and you set the weapon aside, holding up your empty hands. You’re either deaf, fearless, or dumb. Not that he trusts you at all, engine grumbling as loudly as he dares with the Autobot so close. And you flatten yourself against the wall to scoot past him, keeping just out of reach. Tensing as you get to the opening, he waits for you to bolt. Knows it’ll get the Prime’s attention. That his luck has finally ran out.

• Biting your lip and hoping you’re not making a terrible mistake, you hit the button to close the garage door. Aware of the thing staring at you, still growling. And it scoots itself, a leg dragging and you freeze. Because now you can’t squeeze by without getting within grabbing range. Its head tips, visor still flickering and you lift a hand. “Hi,” you say, realizing you’re trapped. Now you remember the Terminator theme.

• Had you just protected him? Why? Moving slowly, he lifts his own hand to mimic your greeting and you bare your little teeth at him. Are you smiling? Painfully shifting to get his back against the wall, he lays his head back. Watching you edge closer to him. You’re no threat, too little to hurt him. Gritting his denta behind his mask, he vents softly.

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• Head tipping to watch you edge closer, it’s tensed and you wait for it to lunge and grab you. But it lets you get within range and then dart for the stairs. When you look back, it’s not moved, that flickering visor fixed on you. “When you’re ready to leave, that same button lifts the door,” you say even though you have no idea if it can understand you. Or what it is. Some kind of advanced AI? For all you know, it’s real life Ultron plotting to pancake you with a meteor. It shifts a leg and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a groan, that faintly luminous stuff it’s leaking running in rivulets from its injuries. And you hesitate.

• You’re still lingering as he gingerly touches his wounds, his self repair system sluggish from lack of energon. Trying to seal the leaks in his lines, but failing. And you tip your little face skyward like you’re praying to your deities before you walk back down the stairs even though you’re clearly afraid of him. Alert as you head to a bench along the far wall and rustle around until you find a roll of bright pink stuff. “I’m not a mechanic, but duct tape is great for a lot of stuff. Maybe even stopping leaks?” Let you help or bleed out? And why do you even want to help? In his experience, kindness is usually a ploy to get something.

• It’s staring at you, before it slowly holds out an arm. Breath shuddering out of you when you move closer, you’re unnerved by the size of it. Even bent over and curled in on itself to fit in the garage, it’s huge. Head tilting to watch when you pull a small piece of tape loose and then tear it with your teeth. Your fingers are small enough to get into the gaps and get at the leaking lines. Hoping whatever this stuff is, that it’s not corrosive. It doesn’t melt your skin off when you touch it, just feels warm and slick. Slowly taping the tear until it stops leaking before you look up at it and it shows you the next wound. “Steve,” it growls and you flinch.

• “Is that your name?” You ask and your voice is soft. Gentle. Little face upturned to offer him an uncertain smile before you tend to the next tear with your ‘duct’ tape. Has anyone ever actually been kind to him? As far back as he can remember he’s been following orders. Being yelled at. Sometimes thrown or hit for things that aren’t even his fault. And he’s not sure that he can trust your kindness. You must be after something. But your soft voice is soothing as you tell him your name and talk him through each tear as you mend them as best you can. Wants to believe that your soft hands aren’t going to harm him, that your sweet voice isn’t a trap. He’s just so tired.

• “Why?” He asks and it takes a moment to realize he’s asking why you’re helping him. Like you need to have a reason. And sure, every survival instinct you had was screaming at you not to help him, but you’d done it anyway. Still are. Because you’re too soft, know it and are used to people taking advantage and walking all over you. And you just can’t stop reaching out anyway no matter how many times you get hurt.

• “Because you needed help,” you say, those gentle hands taping a line tear in his side. Like it’s that simple. He’d needed you and you’d reached out wanting and expecting nothing in return. Has no idea how to respond to this. What to say. Leaning slowly forward until his helm touches your head, soft hair brushes against him when you freeze. Visor flickering when you slowly reach up a hand to lay on his masked face. “You’re okay.” How do you know exactly what he needs?

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• Can’t understand you. Can’t understand your kindness. Helping him even though there’s nothing in it for you. But it means so much to him, servos hesitantly brushing your arm as you tape the last tear and smile up at him. Like this is normal, helping someone you don’t even know with nothing to gain. Is this just an organic thing? Or just you? “That’s the best I can do, sorry,” you say. Apologizing that you hadn’t been able to completely help repair him. Like you think you didn’t do enough.

• Suddenly aware of the fact that he’s curled forward, head brushing yours and the tips of his servos grazing your arm, you back nervously back away. Reminding yourself that just because he’s docile right now doesn’t mean he’s safe. And his arm slowly lowers as his head tips to study your pitiful repair job. He’s not bleeding out whatever his glowing stuff is anymore, but that’s all you’d managed. “I can check and see if the coast is clear, if you want?” You ask and his head tips making you think he doesn’t understand the saying. Walking to the door, you push it open and look outside. Don’t see anyone around now. Whoever made him has to be looking for him, though. “I think you’re okay now. Do you remember how to open the garage door?” Watching as his head slowly dips in a nod, you relax. “For what it’s worth, I hope whoever hurt you doesn’t catch you.”

• Watches you head back up those stairs into the main building, leaving him to rest. Servos flexing, he swears he can still feel those soft, gentle hands on him. Venting, he reluctantly crawls to the bigger door and carefully pokes the little button, hearing something crunch under his servo, but the door slowly rises enough that he can awkwardly crawl out. Knows he’s still far too weak, but he can at least walk to the nearest energon mine for help. His self repair systems trying to deal with the damage now that he’s not losing so much energon. Thanks to you.

• When you open the door to the garage to check on your new friend, you’re not really surprised that he’s gone. It’s not like he’s some stray cat that you can just keep. He’s a giant, crazy advanced robot. And someone did that damage to him, someone you’d rather not deal with. Heading back inside to fix some dinner, you smile despite yourself, wishing Steve good luck wherever he is.

• No one believes him, but that’s not really surprising. They’re cloned soldiers. Expendable. So someone treating them with not only respect, but kindness? He gets it. Gets that the others doubt him. Grimacing as Knockout works on repairing him, he keeps thinking about you. And realizes that he wants to repay you somehow. There must be something he can do for you. What do little organics even like? Maybe some of the other Vehicons know?

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• Dragging into the kitchen in a tank top and shorts, you get coffee going and nearly scream when a shadow falls across the window. And it’s your alien friend, his head tilted as he stares in at you and reaches to tap against the window. Heart racing, you lift a nervous hand and he eases back slightly. Why is he back? Nervous, you toe on your sneakers and step outside. Hesitating when you see Steve’s brought friends. There’s two more of them, crouching to stare at you. “Hi? You look better,” you manage, fighting the urge to turn and run for the door.

• Aware of his cloned brothers studying you with bemused curiosity, he offers you an energon goodie and you just stare at it, then him. Bending to offer you the rare treat, when just getting rations to begin with is never a sure thing, he needs you to be repaid for your kindness and knows this isn’t nearly enough. Vehicons are the lowest in the Decepticon hierarchy. Expendable. Often forgotten. “For you,” he insists, and you finally reach to take it, but don’t try it. Saving it for later, maybe, but he’s pleased anyway even if he’d wanted you to eat from his hand. To trust him as a protector.

• Hugging the glowing thing to your body, you offer him a smile. Have no idea what it is, but you don’t want to offend him or risk hurting his feelings. “Thank you so much. It’s… lovely.” And you really hope the glow isn’t radioactivity. “And you brought friends.” Watching him glance at the other two, like he’d forgotten they were there for a moment, you fidget. “Hi.” Waggling your fingers at the two newcomers they exchange a look and one hesitantly waves back.

• Venting as B3N waves at you and N31L just shakes his head like he can’t believe he’d given you the rare treat, Steve kneels so he’s not looming over you. Except, you’re so small, he still is. Short of lying flat on the ground, he’s going to be looking down at you and it bothers him. “For your assistance,” he says, reaching out a hand, hesitating and extending a servo. Staring up at him, you tuck the treat against your hip and cautiously lay a soft hard on his servo and he bends forward until he can brush his masked face against the back of your hand. Needing you to understand that no one cares about Vehicons. No one mourns them, tries too hard to save them when they’re wounded. You’re not even Cybertronian, though and you’d seen him. Cared. For that he owes you. For that, he’ll protect and watch over you. And his brothers reach out, extending you the same honor.

• Going still as the other two edge closer and each brush a servo against you, you try to figure out what’s happening. There’s almost a reverence in the gentle way they’re touching you that makes you nervous. Maybe this is just how they thank someone? A weird, alien cultural thing? All three of them touching you before drawing back. Transforming into vehicles to startle you and just driving away. Leaving you standing in the dew soaked grass with a glowing mystery object and more questions than answers. And you wonder if they’ll come back.

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• Holding up his empty hands, he wonders if Lazerbeak has already commed his master and how long he has before Soundwave storms in and punishes him for daring to speak to his pet. Had only looked at Megatron’s human trying to work up the nerve to ask them and the warlord had attacked him. Shockwave is too terrifying to dare approach even if he hadn’t confined his human to his personal habsuite and he doubts Starscream will let him anywhere near his human since he tends to carry them around tucked in the crook of an arm. So Soundwave’s human is his best bet. “Who are you?” The human asks, face scrunching unsettlingly up at him. Should he kneel maybe? So he’s not looming? Or would that be condescending?

• “Steve,” he says, slowly lowering his hands since the human isn’t running away from him yet, seems to be listening and willing to help. “I really just want to talk.” Had given you an energon goodie, but he’d gotten the impression that you’d found the gift unsatisfactory. You’d almost seemed puzzled by it. “What do you humans like as gifts?” And the human blinks up at him as Lazerbeak croaks at him, sidling slightly to keep between him and Soundwave’s pet. Wants to give you something you’d like, something worthy to show his gratitude. To make you smile.

• And this human is just staring up at him. “I gave them a premium energon goodie,” he adds. He’d gotten the rare reward from Breakdown for finding a vein of energon that had nearly been missed and had been saving it. ‘Humans can’t eat energon,’ Soundwave’s pet says with a smile. ‘But I might have a few ideas.’ Servos flexing nervously as Lazerbeak hisses and seizes the human by their covering, tugging until they fall and the drone starts trying to drag them away as the human swats at it. ‘Cut it out, big bird.’

• Slowly reaching out, he gently nudges the drone with a servo and it flares its plating with a hiss, distracted from pulling the human away from him. Has no doubt the drone’s contacted Soundwave and that he doesn’t have much time before he’s dragged out and punished for daring to speak to Soundwave’s pet. And the human rights their coverings, looking up at him when he offers them a servo to help them back up. “Okay… Steve,” the human says. “Tell me about your human friend and I’ll try to help.”

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• Nose wrinkling when your eyes are drawn inexorably to the glowing thing Steve had gifted you and really hoping that glow isn’t radioactivity, you’d ended up using it as a side table for your favorite chair. And it doubles as an only slightly unsettling nightlight. That might be irradiating you. Sighing, you head into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Sleepily yawning, you catch a flash of red glow through the window a foot from your face and scream, dropping the glass to shatter in the sink as your heart races. It’s like you’d summoned him just by thinking about him. Mouth open as Steve lifts a hand.

• Backing away at the sound of your muffled scream, his plating flares slightly before settling. Hadn’t meant to scare you, but Soundwave’s little pet had given him so many ideas. And Soundwave himself hadn’t hurt him for talking to them. Just stared him down, an arm lifting to point at the door after finding him, those tendrils of his lashing behind him. Threatening, but not punishing him. Shifting to try and track you through your little dwelling, he shifts on his peds. Finally, the door opens and he hesitates. What are you wearing? It’s very short, very thin and those fluffy things on your feet have faces.

• “Steve, sweetie, it’s one in the morning,” you manage, heart still pounding as he slowly kneels in front of you in the dew soaked grass. And his head tilts to make you think that time probably doesn’t matter that much to him. But at least it’s only him and not a bunch of his buddies to stare at you with that weird, almost reverence. And he’s lifting an arm toward his chassis and just pulling stuff out of nowhere like a magician as your mouth falls open. A fistful of boxed candy, stuffed animals, and part of someone’s rose bush is held out to you.

• Offering you the gifts he’d spent so much time finding and secreting away in his subspace, he waits as you just stare. “You didn’t seem to like my other gift,” he says, holding his hand closer, waiting. Doesn’t any of it appeal to you? The other human had seemed so sure these things would be liked. Needs to properly thank you for your kindness, his little human. He’s altered his patrols to include your dwelling so he can look after you, convinced some of his brothers to do the same so you’re protected at all times.

• Because you have no idea what his other gift even was, but he’s bending, leaning over you, visor dimming slightly. Will it hurt his feelings if you refuse? Reaching, you pick up a stuffed dog, smoothing a thumb over its soft face. “You don’t have to thank me for helping you. It was the right thing to do.” And his head tips, alien and unreadable. Like he doesn’t understand someone being kind, reminding you of how he’d reacted when you’d helped him. That he hadn’t seemed to trust that you weren’t going to harm him. Like he’s really not used to any kindness and your heart aches for him.

• Watches you shuffle to the side as he reaches past you, movements slow so he doesn’t spook you and deposits the rest of your gifts inside your dwelling. “You’re under Vehicon protection,” he says and you hug the stuffed animal to yourself, staring up at him. “Debts must be repaid in kind.” Hesitating, he slowly brushes the back of his servo against your arm, nudging you back into your dwelling. “I’m watching over you.”

• Why does that sound more like a threat than anything else. Not sure what to say as he gently nudges you inside and you hear his servos scraping the door as he tries to close it until you end up pushing it closed with a foot. What does he mean by watching over you? Peeking through the blinds, you see him fold up, transforming into a car in your yard a foot away from your door with his front wheels in your flower bed on your pansies. Oh, yeah that looks normal. The neighbors are going to think you were drunk. Wait. Is he staying the night? Too tired to try and figure out how his mind works, you grab a box of chocolates and shuffle upstairs to your bed. Not about to deal with the half a rose bush in your living room this early in the morning.

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• By the time you roll out of bed the next morning and sleepily peek out the blinds, you’re not really surprised to find there’s now five of them camped on your lawn. Because apparently your house is now alien car shapeshifter central. As long as they’re not destroying anything or bringing the military to your doorstep, you’re willing to just roll with it. Steve seems nice enough, if a bit confused. Wandering downstairs, you spot the rose bush just inside your house. Maybe you can convince one of your alien freeloaders to remove it so you don’t have to? Worth a shot.

• Shifting on his shocks when you open the door and step outside, still wearing that unsettlingly insubstantial covering and those fuzzy things on your feet with faces and shiny black eyes, he transforms and crouches down. Aware of his brothers keeping watch for him as he offers you a servo, pleased when you lay a warm hand on it. “Steve? Sweetie? Are you guys hiding out here?” You ask, little face upturned. Worried for them?

• “Watching over you,” he says, visor brightening as his head tips to stare at your hand on the end of his servo. Why does he think you need watching? Or have these guys maybe adopted you like a younger sibling? You have no idea what he’s thinking as he slowly lifts and drops his servo like he’s shaking hands with you. Or like someone teaching a puppy to shake. “You’ll be protected.” From what, though?

• Blowing out a breath, you pull your hand away and disappointment spills through him. “And I really appreciate that,” you say before turning and pointing at your home. “About that lovely rose bush you found me, I don’t suppose one of you could bring it out here and plant it for me?” You ask, lifting your hands slightly and he frowns. Moving in a crouch to the door, you jog after him and open it and he reaches a servo in to drag the plant out.

• He’s too cute, following you in his awkward little crouch with a rose bush in his fist, trying to keep low so he’s hidden behind your house. And when you point out a spot, he uses his servos to dig a hole and drops it in, mounding up dirt around the bush and you wonder which of your neighbors he stole it from. Head turning to stare at you like he’s checking that he’s doing it right and you smile. “Like this?” He asks and when you praise him, he leans into your space and cups his servos against you, helm almost brushing you in a not quite hug. Like he’s not at all used to being told he’s doing a good job.

• “That’s fantastic. Thank you,” you say, a little hand patting the side of his battle mask and he just wants to curl around you. Because there’s no hesitation, no scrutiny of what he’s done. And it’s so foreign to him, that warmth of being recognized and seen. “You did a great job.” Helm bumping your shoulder, he doesn’t even care that this isn’t behavior befitting a Decepticon soldier. Just wants you to keep talking, because no one’s ever appreciated him before. Or thanked him.

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• Awkwardly patting him on the shoulder, he bumps you again, gently butting his head against you like a big, alien cat before letting you go. And he’s just staring expectantly. “Anything else I can assist with?” He asks, head tipping and for some reason you think of your cousin’s kid, the little boy following you around so eager to help any time they visit, eating up any scraps of attention you give him.

• “I think I’m good,” you say and disappointment spills through him. There must be something. Needs to repay you, but you just smile at him and he reluctantly transforms, falling forward into vehicle mode. But he’s done good. You’d said so. Appreciate him and he’s desperate for more of it. More praise and attention. To make you happy.

• “Oh, hi. Sorry,” you mumble, squeezing between two of Steve’s brothers pretending to be cars, feeling the warmth radiating from them as you realize they’ve got your car blocked in completely. There’s more of them than you’d thought and when you look up, your elderly neighbor is squinting from her porch at you. Oh, she’s definitely trying to figure out if she can somehow report you for this. Great.

• Watching you turn and head back toward him, he shifts on his shocks, shivering when you lay a soft hand on his hood. And aware of that other human watching now so he can’t transform. “I need to get groceries and I can’t get to my car,” you whisper and he pops open a door to startle you. Waiting as you hesitate then huff out a little laugh. “Sure.” And you slide into his driver’s side, the sensation so shocking. Visceral. Can feel your weight, your warmth tucked inside him where no one’s ever been, ever touched.

• Feel him shudder slightly around you, rocking on his shocks and you’re a little unsettled that you’re inside a living, sentient alien. Especially when his engine cranks with a low growl and he starts driving himself and you’re not sure what to do with your hands, so you lay them in your lap. And this is so weird as you ease back against the leather seat. “What are groceries?” He asks, his voice coming from everywhere around you and startling a laugh from you.

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• They’re surprisingly domestic for giant aliens. Not only driving you to the grocery store without complaining, but immediately asking if there’s anywhere else you need to go. So eager to please he’s almost overwhelming in his attention. Making you almost positive Steve and his brothers don’t get a lot of praise normally. Or at all.

• Heading back to your home, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have to take you back. There are other humans on the Nemesis. Some of the officers keep humans. Even Megatron has one, but as soon as the thought occurs to him, he dismisses it. Doubts you’d appreciate being taken from your home and what if something happened to him and you were stranded on the Nemesis? It’s not like Vehicon lives are worth much. “You’re awfully quiet,” you say, startling him from his thoughts. “Is it weird? Having someone inside you or do you even notice I’m here?”

• Because it has to be weird. He has a person sitting inside him. “It’s weird,” he confirms, his voice disconcertingly coming from everywhere around you. “I can you feel you moving around. Touching me.” And now it’s weird for you, too. Face reddening, you put your hands in your lap trying to at least touch as little as possible.

• “Sorry,” you mumble, subtly changing color as your head turns to look out his passenger side window. “You could have told me to stop pawing you,” you add. Did he offend you? Didn’t mean to. Isn’t very good at this and he’s struggling to say what he wants when speaking up usually results in punishment. In pain. Sometimes in being thrown out of the Nemesis. But he likes the feel of you cradled in his seat, your warmth soaking into him. Can feel your heart beating, the rhythm so soothing he could curl up with it and recharge. It’s a safe feeling he’s wholly unused to.

• “I like when you touch me. Your hands are soft.” And it just went from weird to uncomfortable. Were you accidentally feeling him up? What all did you touch? He’s a giant, transforming alien robot. Know you’re probably just projecting, but now you can’t stop wondering if you groped him without realizing. “Gentle,” he adds, tone almost reverent like gentle is a luxury he’s not used to. Making you wonder about wherever it is he comes from as you try your hardest to not touch anything else.

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• “You’re quiet,” he says, pulling into your driveway, but not letting you out. Not yet. Trying so hard to figure out what he’d said or done wrong because you stopped talking to him. Stopped touching him. Did he offend you somehow? Is it some human thing he didn’t understand? A boundary he crossed and didn’t know about? “Did I do something?”

• Wincing because you really just want to run to the house, you’re not sure how to explain that he didn’t do anything wrong. You just freaked yourself out wondering if you’d been accidentally feeling up an alien. And you’re still not sure if you had or hadn’t. “No, you’re fine,” you manage weakly. And coming up with nothing to explain it. Because you don’t want to have this conversation. At all.

• “You can tell me to shut up when I’m annoying you,” he says, shifting on his shocks. Aware of his brothers standing guard over your home, alert for threats. “It won’t bother me, I’m used to it.” The Decepticon high demand have never exactly cared much for Vehicons, seeing them as expendable. As less than real Cybertronians. It is what it is and he’s accepted it as just the way things are.

• It’s the way he says it, with a little, self-deprecating inflection that you would have missed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Hating whoever has made him feel like that. “I just get overwhelmed sometimes. Overthink things,” you mumble, flustered with him and yourself. “That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, though.” You start to reach out and pat his dash and just freeze. What if that’s feeling him up? Where is okay to touch? Is anywhere okay? You’re sitting in him.

• And you just put your face in your hands with a little frustrated noise. Must be a human thing, he decides at a loss. “The gray human is watching,” he says and your head lifts to stare at the other human frowning his way. And you groan. ‘Please tell me she’s not been standing there the whole time? That she didn’t see you just roll up without a driver?’ You moan and he sinks slightly on his shocks. Oh.

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• Watching your elderly neighbor frowning at you from her porch, you really hope that his windows are tinted enough for her to not notice that there was nobody in Steve’s driver seat. Except, if you get out of the passenger side and no one gets out of the driver’s side, it’ll still be sketchy looking. Like the dozens of identical cars parked on your lawn. That more than likely have been moving around with no drivers. Staring blankly at his dash, you swallow a groan. “I need a fence,” you mutter. Because the nosy old lady was out there judging you nonstop before your house became hotel alien.

• A fence? That’s doable. And he’s shuddering on his shocks when you squirm over his center console to get over into his driver’s seat with a breathless ‘I’m so sorry.’ Unable to move, much less formulate a response when you open the door and let yourself out, going around to fumble with his trunk with soft fingers until he pops it for you so you can get your groceries out. What was that?

• He’s making a funny noise, almost a revving whine as you grab as much as you can and head for the house, not daring to look to see if your neighbor’s watching as you fumble to get the door unlocked without dropping anything. Trying to convince yourself that she probably didn’t see anything. Those lenses on her glasses look like glass coke bottles, you’d seen them when she’d wandered over to stand over you and complain about young people having no decency when you’d tried to lay out in the yard in a chair and tan. Apparently your shorts and tank top too risqué for her tastes. She can’t possibly see that well.

• You’re coming back to get the rest of your things from his trunk and you lean down. “Are you okay? You’re making a weird sound?” You whisper and he manages a growl in answer. Because you’d slid yourself over him, your body rubbing against him as you’d squirmed over into the driver’s side and it had been a shock. And you’re heading back into your house as he stares after you. Was that flirting? Did you just flirt with him? Has no idea. Isn’t about to ask, either. Sinking lower on his shocks, he’s aware of his brothers watching him curiously. Needing to distract himself from whatever that was and you’d asked for a fence.

• You hide in the house after you put your groceries up. At one point peeking out the window to try and get a count of how many Vehicons you’re apparently hosting and you stop counting at twenty. Your yard completely covered now with more parked on the road. What’s so fascinating about you and your house? Maybe they’re like stray cats. You were kind to one of them and now they’re all coming around wanting attention. Any more and the old lady will definitely call the cops on you and you have no idea how to explain all the cars. Can’t believe she’s not called already. She’d called the minute you’d turned on the stereo last time you had friends over for a backyard barbecue.

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• Putting up your groceries and heading upstairs to change, you almost trip over a broken stair. And your head lifts, noticing the gouge in the paint on the wall. Apparently some of your alien cats have been in your house while you were out. Heading upstairs and mildly surprised the floor of the old house didn’t cave under their weight, you push open your bedroom door and inhale slowly. That’s not your bed. You’re not entirely sure what it is. Some kind of crude metal frame on the floor wedged against the walls and your dresser so you won’t be able to open the drawer. What had they done, robbed a mattress store? There’s four of them wedged into the frame and a mountain of blankets and pillows on top.

• ‘We got the berth fixed,’ one of his brothers lets him know and Steve shifts on his shocks slightly. Not particularly sure how he ended up the defacto leader here, but somehow his brothers have decided he’s the human expert. The one allowed to speak to you. “They need a fence. A tall one,” he says. Tall enough they can move about freely mass displaced so the gray human can’t worry you anymore. And he wants to be able to interact with you out of his altmode more freely. Still slightly off balance from you sliding across his center console. Unsure what that was. What it meant.

• You’re not dealing with whatever this is right now. Finding your pajamas, you head into the bathroom to shower, letting the hot water strip away the flustered embarrassment of possibly feeling up poor Steve. Dressing and pushing open the door, you nearly scream, stumbling back and banging your hip on the vanity. Because one of them is in the house, holding up your robe and slippers. Heart hammering as he holds them up expectantly, you know he wasn’t trying to jump scare you. But still. Which one is this one? Know it’s not Steve, but there’s so many of them now. “Thanks,” you murmur, taking the stuff he’s holding out and his visor brightens, a fist thumping against his chassis.

• Knows he’ll need to wait until full dark to start the fence, but that doesn’t mean he can’t plan. Make sure his brothers are on board, but then, they’re as happy to take care of you as he is. You’re theirs to protect. Had helped him when no one else would have bothered. Other Decepticons wouldn’t have. To them, Vehicons are tools to be used and then discarded once they’re no longer useful. Knows it and had thought he’d accepted it, but now he craves your kindness and attention. Would do anything for a little more of it. You’re becoming an addiction, something soft in his hard, unpleasant life.

• When you go back downstairs, your helper shadows you, the stairs creaking so badly that you’re sure they’ll collapse under you both any second. There’s another one of them in the living room poking around at your stuff and his head lifts guiltily when he spots you. Both him and your helper following you into the kitchen. Maybe they want something? Or they’re bored. Finding a frozen dinner and microwaving it, they both hover and watch like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. You’re not sure if you should be flattered or unnerved. And they watch you carry it to the table to eat, too. “Do you guys need something?” You ask a little desperately and they both flinch, heads shaking. ‘Do you?’ One asks, sounding almost hopeful and his visor dims slightly when you shake your head. Alright then. Skin prickling, you eat your food as quickly as possible. Maybe you’re like an alien nature documentary to them, watching your boring life their form of entertainment? But if one of them starts narrating your every move for the benefit of the others, you might just lose it.

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• Shoulders hunching, you try to ignore that there’s now five of them watching your boring routine like you’re the lamest zoo exhibit in existence. You’d come out of the bathroom after dinner to find three more and they’d followed you into the living room, watching you flip on the TV as you get more and more uncomfortable with their rapt attention. They have to want something. There’s no way they’re legitimately this bored. “What kind of shows do you guys like?” You ask the group and they exchange looks. As you watch, there’s a low argument, a scuffle, and one of them gets shoved your way by the others. Alright. ‘What shows do you like?’ He parrots back at you, looking like he wants to sink straight through the floorboards, maybe self destruct, anything to escape your stare.

• Shifting on his shocks in his altmode when the door opens and you come striding out of the house in those little shorts, a thin top, and that voluminous, soft looking robe, he stares. And five of his brothers are mass shifted, following in your wake. Making him wince when one of them pops the trim facing your doorway off by accident on his plating. And you head right for him, pulling open his passenger side door and sliding inside to shut it. “Everything okay?” He asks watching the five Vehicons keeping low as they mass shift and transform. Really needs that fence. Tonight.

• Inhaling shakily, you don’t even know how to articulate your panic. Feeling silly about it now as you sink into his leather seat, head back and eyes closed. Had run from them because they’d been overwhelming you with attention, but they really hadn’t been doing anything. You want to ask what they want from you. What they expect, because they stare at you like you’re something fascinating. Follow you around like you might do a trick and get weird when you talk to them. Pressing your hands over your face, you try to calm down. Know you’re overreacting. “Yeah. Everything’s okay,” you mutter.

• Venting as he settles on his wheels at the feel of you tucked safely inside him, he’s not sure what to say, because it’s clearly not okay. Conversation, though? Not his strong suit. Other Cybertronians only interacting with them to order them around, not to actually talk, so this is new territory. And it makes him wary. It’s something he’s not entirely sure he’s allowed. “Are we bothering you?”

• What do you all want from me? Why can’t you just ask him? There’s so many of them now, all watching your every move. Maybe they really are like stray cats and you’ve unwittingly adopted them all by being kind to one. “No, you’re not bothering me,” you sigh. But that air of expectation you can almost feel when they watch you makes you nervous. Twisting onto your side, you startle when he eases the seat back to try and make you comfortable. “What do you want?” You ask and he rumbles around you. “Not them, just you.” Because dealing with one of them is easier than all of them staring and almost fawning over you.

• “Home,” he says hesitantly, the answer surprising him, because that’s definitely not something they’re allowed. No one says it, but they all know once the war is over, they won’t have a purpose. That they’ll be destroyed to harvest resources. Many of them already meeting that fate in Shockwave’s lab. Knows it. Thought he’d accepted his lot, but lately he’s wanted more. Wanted a lot more. A life that’s his own, not just a part of the Decepticon war machine. “I want a home. A life.” Saying it out loud feels dangerous, like he shouldn’t want these things. They’re scandalous. Not meant for him or any of them, but he can’t stop wanting them now.

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• He almost sounds surprised when he says it, like he’s not supposed to admit to things like that. Like it’s not allowed to him. Don’t know a lot about him and the other Vehicons, but the impression you’re getting? It isn’t pretty. Get the feeling that they’re expendable, that no one really cares what happens to them and they’re sweet mechs. Even if they weird you out a bit by paying too much attention to you. “I think everyone wants that,” you admit and he rumbles around you.

• “Do you want that?” He asks, the answer mattering. Because you have a home and he’d thought you were content, but maybe you’re not. Maybe home is more complicated than a place to belong? Maybe you’re lonely. Is that why you’ve let them stay? Why you never complain about them being here? Wants to believe that. To believe that you want them here. That he’s allowed to be where you are, because it’s what he wants more than anything.

• Head back against his headrest, you close your eyes. Why does he always do that? Defer to you instead of giving his own opinion. It’s like he thinks he’s not allowed to voice what he thinks or wants. And maybe wherever he came from, he isn’t. That thought bothers you, but it makes sense with what you know about him and the other Vehicons. Making you despise whoever they answer to even more. “Have you really never felt like you belonged anywhere? Never had a home?” You ask.

• Shifting uncomfortably on his shocks, he’s aware of his fellow Vehicons in your yard. More showing up daily, flocking here as they hear about you. The Decepticons have to have noticed by now even with him making sure shifts still report in to the Nemesis. But then, they’re pretty much invisible unless they’re needed for something. They’re ignored and discarded because they’re not real Cybertronians. “Not until you,” he admits, the words feeling dangerous. Something he’s not allowed to admit.

• Breath hitching, your head turns to stare at the faint glow of dim biolights on his dash. Those words making your chest ache, making you feel guilty for running from his brothers. Is that why they watch you like they do? Because you’ve been kind to them, made them feel welcome and they have no idea what to do about it when it’s such a new experience to them? You hate whoever’s made them feel unwanted, like they don’t matter. Because they’re yours. All of them. “Well, we’re family, right?” You mumble awkwardly, hearing him make a funny little rev of noise like you surprised him. “So this is your home.”